


The Joys Of Onanism

by KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Edging, Experiments, For Science!, Friends to Lovers, Intense Orgasms, Kissing, Loving John, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Masturbation, Overwhelmed Sherlock, PWP, Patient John, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Wanking for science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 23:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15496671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: “The man was almost seventy! He had chronic heart disease. He could have had a heart attack whilst having a shit!” John scoffed. “It's no worse for you than a brisk walk.”“Prove it,” Sherlock insisted, eyes focussed entirely on John.“Prove what?” John asked. “That I won't die from wanking?”“No – That – must you be so crude?” Sherlock complained. “That an edged masturbation session is no worse than brisk walking. Prove it.”“And how do you expect me to do that?” John frowned, picking up his water and drinking it again.





	The Joys Of Onanism

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to Fin_amour for beta'ing this fic, and to Gem for helping me with my ideas. I'm not sure why I'm suddenly so inspired! But I managed to do this in a few hours!
> 
> Onanism is another word for masturbation.
> 
> Please comment! And add me on Twitter as I made a new one @Ao3Hill

Sherlock had been ranting fairly consistently since they had left the crime scene. According to Sherlock, the case had seemed interesting at first, but soon became boring, except for a small detail he couldn't understand.

The victim had been coated in semen. His entire stomach and chest, and even as far up to his eyebrow had seemingly been drenched in ejaculate – which Sherlock deduced had to come from numerous unknown assailants. After looking through CCTV and seeing nobody entering or leaving the man's flat, Sherlock had looked at other ways which the strangers could have entered. It had seemed entirely impossible, unless they had scaled twelve stories to climb through a window in order to jizz on a man and then shimmy back down the building.

“It's all his own,” John had eventually commented, putting on a pair of vinyl gloves and looking at the body in more detail. He hummed, tilting his head, and then stood back up, snapping the gloves off. “He had a heart attack.”

Sherlock had immediately gone quiet, glaring at John, Lestrade and the few people in the room before huffing and leaving in a sulk. He had barely shut up in the cab on the way home and it seemed that he wouldn't be quietening down any time soon.

“But that makes no sense!” Sherlock rambled, pushing open the door to Baker Street and immediately taking the stairs two at a time, leaving John to close and relock the door before he could follow.

John rolled his eyes as he reached the landing, sweeping off his coat and hanging it up as he wandered through to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

“It's called edging, Sherlock,” John sighed, taking a few gulps of water and setting the glass back down on the counter. “It’s where you reach the point of orgasm and then slow your strokes until the urge leaves.”

“I understand what edging is, John!” Sherlock shouted, almost shrill as he paced around the living room. “But what I don't understand is why.”

“What do you mean why?” John frowned, turning to rest against the counter, “Why what?”

“Why indulge in that –  _ strenuous activity _ ?” Sherlock huffed, a hand trailing through his hair in what John recognised as frustration, “Why not just get the damned thing over with and continue on with your day?”

John smiled, shaking his head. “You've obviously never done it.”

“Obviously!” Sherlock replied, throwing a hand up.

“So, you're telling me that when you --” John gave a crude gesture at waist level. “You don't enjoy yourself?”

“It's fine,” Sherlock shrugged. “It's adequate. It fulfils its duty to sate my insistent libido and then I can continue with whatever activities I have planned for the day. I cannot sit around and --” he repeated the gesture, “waste the limited time I have on this earth.”

John frowned playfully. “You're useless. Orgasms are supposed to be fun. They're supposed to leave you feeling like you're going to pass out.”

“Or die of a heart attack?” Sherlock replied sharply. “No thank you.”

“The man was almost seventy! He had chronic heart disease. He could have had a heart attack whilst having a shit!” John scoffed. “It's no worse for you than a brisk walk.”

“Prove it,” Sherlock insisted, eyes focussed entirely on John.

“Prove what?” John asked. “That I won't die from wanking?”

“No – That – must you be so crude?” Sherlock complained. “That an edged masturbation session is no worse than brisk walking. Prove it.”

“And how do you expect me to do that?” John frowned, picking up his water and drinking it again.

Sherlock hesitated for a second before heading to his bedroom. John assumed that he had called Sherlock's bluff, and his friend would simply go off for a sulk until John dragged him out for food. Instead, John watched as Sherlock stomped back out and held out two heart rate monitors. They were the expensive type which John had seen advertised in Sherlock's high-end magazines ( _ which Sherlock denied buying but which always arrived on the first of the month),  _ and not only tracked your heart rate, but distance, calories and goodness knows what else. They linked to a phone and could be compiled in one handy graphic.

“Where on earth did you get them?” was John's first question, before he blinked and then frowned. “And what do you want me to do with them?”

“Not important,” Sherlock answered the first part, and then smiled smugly. “And I propose an experiment.”

* * *

Sherlock had been giddy with the thought of John as a test subject, and the doctor watched as Sherlock rushed around, collecting his laptop and immediately starting up a new spreadsheet which he organised rapidly. Next came Sherlock insisting that John sit down and relax for ten minutes to give him a baseline heart rate to compare with.

It didn't take long before Sherlock was checking the app on his phone, humming and tilting his head as he input the data into the spreadsheet 

“You have a good heart rate,” he said after a while. “Perfectly within the parameters of your age.”

“Thanks?” John replied, smiling fondly at his friend as Sherlock typed a few more things into his laptop.

A few moments later and Sherlock was up, kicking on his shoes and throwing John's coat at him before standing at the door and huffing “Come along John!”

“What? Where are we going? I haven't had tea,” John grumbled, but followed Sherlock as usual.

Regents Park was quiet. The autumn air was forcing people back into the warmth of their homes and there was only the occasional jogger or dog walker who passed the duo, barely giving them any notice as John and Sherlock walked briskly around the park.

They had done a lap around Regents Park, listening to the cacophony of the animals in London Zoo as they passed. It was nice, almost intimate as they talked and walked together, and all too soon they had reached the gates back home.

Sherlock once more jumped onto his phone, checking the app and humming as he took out a small pencil and a notepad and began jotting numbers and codes down which John didn't understand. He left Sherlock to it, crossing the road and pulling out his house keys to return to the warmth of their living room.

* * *

John relaxed into his chair, thankful for the opportunity for a hot shower and some food after a full day of cases and Sherlock's oddness. He didn't mind helping the detective in filling some gaps in his knowledge, and he was planning on wanking when he went to bed anyway, so it wouldn't be a major inconvenience to wear the heart monitor. It was a little odd to think that Sherlock could watch his heart rate climb as he got closer to orgasm, but it wasn't like Sherlock was going to be in the room. It would be fine.

“I was thinking that you should complete your self-pleasure here in the living room,” Sherlock said, head peeking over the top of his laptop.

John almost cricked his neck with how quickly his head spun around. “What are you on about? No!”

“I need to ensure that no parameters have been changed. Too many variables if you're hidden behind a door. You could be doing anything!” Sherlock insisted.

“Like what? I’d be having a wa – masturbating and then going to sleep!” John hissed, folding his arms. “No. Not happening.”

“How would I know if you're almost at your peak? You could just be half-heartedly stroking without purpose!” Sherlock insisted.

“Why?” John blinked.

“To prove a point? To win our argument?” Sherlock replied.

“So, you just want me to sit here and touch myself whilst you watch?” John scoffed. “Because that won't be off putting or anything!”

_ Don't imagine Sherlock watching you. Those colourless eyes following your hand as it strokes your prick. Those sinful lips being touched by the hot, pink tongue. _

“It's a scientific study, John,” Sherlock said condescendingly with an eye roll. “I have no interest in your genitals.”

“Fine,” John smirked, suddenly aware of how to change Sherlock's mind. “You do it, too. One set of data isn't a study. It's an anecdote. If you join me, then you'll have two separate sets of data.”

Sherlock's cheeks flooded pink and he ducked his head back behind the laptop, John could hear him muttering quietly before his head popped back up. “I don't think that's appropriate. As I stated, I have no interest in prolonged onanism.”

“And I have no interest in jerking my gherkin in front of my flatmate,” John lied, “But if those are the rules, then you have to abide by them too.”

Sherlock's cheeks had gone a rosy pink and he looked flustered as he looked down at the desk, seeming to consider John's proposal. “I don't have my resting or raised heart rate,” Sherlock commented.

“We can add that bit in tomorrow,” John suggested, chewing his thumbnail absently. “But I think it’s only fair.”

Sherlock gulped audibly, but nodded. He stood and left for a shower, leaving John to consider what was about to happen.

* * *

John banked a small fire in the hearth, chasing away the chill in the living room before heading upstairs to his own bedroom to collect some things he would need. Pulling out some loose pyjamas, John changed so that he was comfortable, before pulling on his robe and lifting his lubricant from the bedside table and pocketing it.

As he returned downstairs, he grabbed the box of tissues from the table and placed it on the small table beside his chair. It would make cleaning up much easier if he didn't have to stand up and risk dripping ejaculate all over the rug. He wasn't sure what Sherlock's preferences were, but he took a handful of tissues out of the box and placed it on the arm of Sherlock's leather chair. The last thing he did was walk to the door to their flat and use the deadbolt to lock it. He definitely didn't want his landlady walking in on this. It would be quite a feat to explain.

Hearing the shower turn off, John listened and heard Sherlock step out of the tub and walk into his own room. After five minutes, Sherlock returned to the living room and wordlessly reached for the spare heart monitor on the sofa which he strapped to his left wrist. Sherlock was visibly anxious, and John felt momentarily bad for suggesting that Sherlock join in – until he noticed the outline of Sherlock's semi-hard cock pushed against the cotton of his pyjama pants. John couldn't tear his eyes away from the bulge, watching it bounce with each step until Sherlock cleared his throat.

“Sorry,” John coughed, putting his hands across his lap to hide his mirroring condition. “I er – wasn't sure if you wanted tissues, but I put some there?”

Sherlock gave a nod, falling gracefully onto his seat and then letting his legs stretch out, toes wiggling into the carpet as he did whenever he was nervous.

“I also – I brought lubricant… wasn't sure if you...” John began, but closed his mouth when Sherlock fished into his robe pocket and pulled out a small tub of Vaseline.

John smiled warmly at the sight. He hadn't wanked with Vaseline since he was a teenager living at home with his parents. Lube was tricky to get hold of, but both Harry and his mum used Vaseline for their chapped lips – they never understood why it constantly went missing from their rooms.

“Wasn't sure if you wanted to watch porn, or something?” John suggested, “I er – I don't mind.”

“It won't be necessary,” Sherlock replied, ducking his head and looking at John under his lashes. “I – porn does little to titillate me. I can tell when they're faking it.”

“Of course you can,” John smiled, inhaling deeply before tapping his heart monitor. The number was slightly higher than his base rate, but it was only to be expected as he carefully began to give his shaft a few casual strokes over the fabric of his trousers.

“I am unsure of the procedure,” Sherlock admitted after a moment of silence. “You attempt to stop yourself at the very precipice of orgasm?”

“That's right,” John nodded. “Then you can either take your hands off entirely, or slow your hand so that the urge reduces.”

“Very well,” Sherlock nodded. “Shall we begin?”

* * *

_ This is going to be so awkward,  _ John thought as he slowly ran his hand down his stomach, dipping it under the waistband of his sleeping pants and taking hold of his cock. He would get the first one out of the way, try and reach the edge as quickly as possible so that hopefully the arousal countered the embarrassment of being in this situation.

Sherlock's eyes followed John's movements and mirrored them, his own hand sneaking into his trousers. John heard the hitch of Sherlock's breath, and closed his eyes, letting his head fall backwards against the headrest of his chair.

It didn't take long for John's cock to fill out, becoming hard in his hand as he gave it a few rhythmic strokes up and down, giving a twist to the tip on every third stroke. John's mind began to wander as he thought about Sherlock's technique, was he a straight up and down man? Or did he add a twist and flare?

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Sherlock said through gritted teeth, his eyes closed in concentration as his arm moved with slow pulls.

“Sorry,” John mumbled, his other hand moving up to cup and roll his nipple.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked, breathily and already visibly aroused.

“Touching my nipples?” John frowned, blinking “You don't touch anything else?”

“No? Why would I?” Sherlock asked haughtily. “I stimulate my genitals to orgasm. That's all I need to do.”

“Jesus,” John huffed, eyes focussing on Sherlock even as his pleasure slowly built. “Try it. Just rub your fingers over your nipple.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes with suspicion but seemingly trusted John enough to try his suggestion. With slow movements, Sherlock's fingers travelled under his shirt, callused fingers brushing over his erect nipples.

“Oh,” Sherlock gasped, eyes widening as he stared at John. “Oh...”

“Yeah...” John smiled, giving a gentle nod. “And if you think that's good, wait until you discover your prostate.”

“I'm aware of the location of my prostate,” Sherlock grumbled, cheeks now flushed a pretty dusky pink. “I'm not a complete innocent in these matters.”

John nodded, unwilling to get into an argument when they both had their hands around their cocks.

The room descended into silence, only the occasional click and pop of the fire breaking the quiet. John watched Sherlock intently, watched as his face got slack with pleasure, his head lowering towards his chest and his hands moving with faster, harder tugs.

“If you're going to come, you need to stop,” John warned, watching as Sherlock's attention snapped back to him. It was only then that John realised that Sherlock had been in his mind palace.

“I'm not,” Sherlock insisted, but his hand was certainly moving slower on his prick as a result of John's warning.

John's trousers were rapidly becoming slick with precome, and John couldn't get the correct angle of movement which he preferred whilst wearing his trousers. Realising that he couldn't get any closer to orgasm, he shuffled awkwardly and then reached for his waistband. “I'm going to take these off now, okay?”

Sherlock hesitated, nervously licking his bottom lip before he gave a single nod. His hand seemed to still, holding tightly as John wiggled out of his bottoms until they were at mid thigh and his cock was now bared to the room, twitching and red tipped.

“Oh god,” Sherlock hissed, bucking forward and clenching his teeth. “Oh no… no no no… no!”

“What? What's wrong?” John asked, eyes wide as he looked over at Sherlock.

“I'm – I tried to hold it and – it's – it's coming,” Sherlock moaned, lip tightly clenched between teeth as he held the base of his shaft. “John… How do I stop it?”

“Pinch the base… or the tip,” John replied, but his eyes were focussed entirely on Sherlock as the man struggled to hold onto his orgasm. The younger man hadn't even got himself out of his trousers before he barked out a moan and began to come, thick pulses erupting onto his sleep shirt in long strands.

“Oh, god,” Sherlock cried, the hand which had been on his nipple was now clenched hard onto the leather of his chair, crumpling the tissues which John had left for him under his sweaty palms.

John watched in amazement as Sherlock orgasmed hard. The tendons in Sherlock's neck were visible as he arched and strained in pleasure, before he slumped into his seat with heavy breaths.

“Y'alright?” John asked tentatively.

“I had not...” Sherlock began before hesitating “I had not considered the extra stimulus of seeing your erection.”

“Oh...” John blinked. “Right...”

“I fear that I have invalidated my data,” Sherlock said quietly, seemingly mortified as he avoided John's eyes. “I should – clean up”

“You could keep going?” John replied without thinking. “Well, you've taken the edge off now. You're not used to this amount of stimulation, so it'll probably help that you've already had an orgasm now… What's your refractory period like?”

“I – I have no idea,” Sherlock admitted. “I've never considered orgasming more than once.”

John realised that he was still stroking himself idly as he was talking to Sherlock; seeing Sherlock orgasm had been an incredibly arousing sight, and it was only by slowing his movements that John staved off his own orgasm.

“Well, just try. Slow and steady, it’s not a race,” John smiled, reaching for the lubricant and smearing some on his hands before he began stroking himself again.

Sherlock squared his shoulders, grateful that John was being understanding about his lapse in self-control. He reached for the Vaseline and slicked up his own hands, before grimacing down at his ejaculate covered T-shirt and taking his cock in his grip.

* * *

Stopping their orgasms the first three times had been simple but slightly frustrating. John's cock throbbed in time with his heartbeat as he ran his thumb across his frenulum, hips bucking up and throat making a cracked groan as he pulled back, rubbing his hands over his stomach to allow himself chance to cool down and back away from the edge. Sherlock had seemingly done the same thing, except instead of his stomach, he had taken to stroking his testicles, rubbing them and even occasionally tapping them with the tips of his fingers which led to a hearty moan.

“It's going to get harder from here...” John moaned, wiping the sweat from his brow “And that's not a euphemism.”

“Yes, that last one was difficult to stop,” Sherlock replied, voice deeper and lower than John had ever heard.

“I was thinking we go to ten?” John suggested, “Or we can come on ten. It's up to you...”

Sherlock nodded, his pupils massive as he looked at John. “Yes. Yes, that sounds fine.”

John bit his lip, adding more lubricant to his shaft before he continued to stroke. His skin was becoming hypersensitive, and already the slit where his precome leaked out had become purple red with the blood flow. John ran his finger around his retracted foreskin and groaned loudly, hips rocking into his grip as he growled, “Fuck.”

“Do you always curse?” Sherlock asked.

“When it's good – yes,” John huffed in reply. “And this is very good.”

“I must agree with you,” Sherlock conceded, “It does seem to be adding to the pleasurable sensations. Although the urge to continue until orgasm is growing.”

“You have to fight against it,” John said breathily, fingers straying down to his testicles and perineum where he pushed at his prostate and moaned. “Fight your urges.”

“I'm rather good at that...” Sherlock whispered, voice low as he looked over at John tenderly and then took his hands away from his cock altogether. “Almost too close.”

John gave a few rough, hard and rapid strokes before taking his own hands away and clenching them hard into fists as his cock bobbed and thumped against his flat stomach, leaving a trail of precome and lubricant smeared on his belly.

“Four...” both men said at once, inhaling and exhaling slowly until they were once more under control.

By number five, John had stripped himself of his robe and kicked off his trousers so they were both left on the floor by his chair. Sherlock had stripped completely, too hot to bear any clothing touching his skin, he allowed his sweat slicked skin to stick to the leather of his chair.

At six, Sherlock had resorted to taking his hands from his cock and putting them onto the top of his head, breathing in rough pants which had his ribs pushing through his thin skin. John couldn't stop the images of him holding Sherlock down by his wrists and travelling down that long, pale body using only his tongue until the detective was writhing in aroused agony, desperate to be sucked or touched to orgasm.

Stopping at seven had John cursing loudly, fingernails digging into his upper thigh as his cock twitched and throbbed thickly, sending streams of precome across sweat slicked skin. Sherlock tracked the movement with his eyes, wondering how John tasted. How it would feel to have that wet, thick precome trickling down the back of his throat as he drained John until the doctor was crying out with oversensitivity.

“John...” Sherlock whispered, catching John’s attention and forcing him to focus on something beyond the pleasure for a moment. “John, I don't think I can – Oh, John it's – it's too much,” he whimpered.

It was only then that John noticed that Sherlock was trembling. His skin completely flushed with a mottled blush of arousal, and his sinewy arms shivering with each flex of his muscles.

“Only two more… just two more,” John insisted, a shudder running up his spine as he thumbed at the sensitive, leaking tip of his cock.

“I don't think I can...” Sherlock whined, crying out as he rubbed his thumb across his frenulum. “It's too much… it's too much.”

“Stop, Sherlock...” John ordered, taking his own hand away from his cock and groaning. His shoulder screamed from overuse, but John wasn't going to stop. He wasn't going to miss this moment of shared intimacy with his best friend – and the man who he quite probably loved.

Sherlock whimpered, shaky hands removing themselves from his cock to grip the arms of the chair.

And good god if John didn't want to swallow those whimpers. Sherlock sounded so utterly delectable, so perfectly desperate that it almost tipped John into a frenzy. John wanted to feel those moans across his cheek as he pushed into Sherlock for the first time, feeling Sherlock's insides contracting around his prick as he worked himself deeper and harder, pushing his stomach into Sherlock's swollen and leaking cock until they were both gasping and panting into one another’s mouths, not kissing, just breathing and sharing the intimacy.

“Last one...” John moaned once the urge to come had passed, his hand made a lazy grip on the base of his cock and pulled up, coaxing the precome to drip into his pubic hair as he began a rhythmic motion of up and downs.

“Oh...” Sherlock gasped, obviously taking himself back in hand.

“Soon...” John promised, although he wasn't sure he would make it himself. The thought of having to stop once more, having to ignore his desires was too much and he moaned in a mixture of longing and despair. He shouldn't have suggested ten. He should have done five. Ten was too much. It was torture – it was…

“John...” Sherlock moaned, “Oh god, John...”

The sound of Sherlock saying his name in such a desperate and aroused way made John immediately drop his cock against his stomach. He whined, low and deep in his throat as his prick gave a few hopeful throbs, and a few drops of precome against his belly. Sherlock seemed to be in the same wrecked state as John, and they gazed at one another with arousal-flooded eyes before John spoke.

“Nine.”

* * *

Both men's chests heaved as they attempted to force in air. John felt like his skin was too small, it itched with desire and the urge to climax, but mostly it itched to reach out and touch Sherlock. The small space between their chairs seemed like a wide chasm that neither man could get over, both stranded on their own side of the imaginary divide.

_ God, he wanted Sherlock. _

Mysterious, aloof Sherlock who at this very moment seemed so desperate and wanton. His eyes wide and glazed, his cheeks and chest flushed with sex blush, his hands clenched dramatically white against the arms of his leather chair. His cock twitching and bobbing, purple tipped and soaking with so much precome that he had stopped using the Vaseline somewhere around number six.

_ He was enchanting, he was beautiful. _

“I want you,” John said out loud, seeming to stun himself at having said it.

The air in the room seemed to go immediately thin, forcing John to take deeper breaths to get air into his lungs. Sherlock was blinking, head tilted as he looked at John with a frown, not understanding what his friend had said.

“Kiss me,” John continued, deciding to say fuck it and give it a try. “God, Sherlock, please. Please kiss me.”

At first John thought that Sherlock was going to leave. The detective stayed sitting still in his chair for a fraction of a second before he lunged at John, practically throwing himself at the older man. In his haste, Sherlock's feet had gotten tangled in John's robe which he dragged midway up the seat as he straddled John's thighs. John could barely hold on as Sherlock's mouth crushed into his, clacking their teeth together and smearing sweat between them as Sherlock's left hand moved to tangle into the sweat damp hair at the nape of John's neck.

“Wanted you...” Sherlock muttered, his lips constantly moving against John's, kissing a trail along John's thin lips, along his jaw and to his ear. “I wanted you so much. So much, John. You had no idea.”

“Just kiss me,” John moaned, their tongues brushed, not fighting for dominance, or even working in tandem with each other, it was messy and uncomplicated and utterly, utterly perfect.

Using one hand, John wrapped it around to grab Sherlock's plump buttock and pull him closer. Two hot, thick cocks brushed and suddenly it was too much. Both John and Sherlock could barely drag in a breath before their orgasms hit them like a tidal wave. Lights erupted behind their eyes, Sherlock's ears rung as his cock thickened, throbbed and then pulsed in hot, huge streams across John's belly.

Trembling hard, John dug his nails into Sherlock's bottom as he came too, shooting ropes of come up to his chest and neck, even getting a strand into the ends of Sherlock's wet curls.

Sherlock heard cursing, loud and crude and realised with a start that it was coming from him. His pleasure-addled brain could apparently only find the words  _ fuck  _ and  _ John  _ in his entire vocabulary as his hips bucked forward, desperately trying to extend the pleasure which was making him dizzy. He had never had an orgasm as intense as this one, and he felt emotion building up behind his eyes, making his nose tingle as though he needed to sneeze.

“Beautiful...” John repeated, over and over again as he rolled his hips so their cocks continued to frot against one another, “You're beautiful. So beautiful.”

Shivering with the intensity of their orgasms, Sherlock collapsed forward and buried his head in the crease of John's neck. It seemed safe there, surrounded by the scent of John, sweat and home. Sherlock was content; he wanted to stay here on John's lap forever. Cases and crime no longer mattered, all that mattered was this moment and the buzzing in his veins which even a cocaine and heroin hit couldn't match.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock. Their bodies were soaked with ejaculate, running down John's side to soak into the fabric of the chair which would need to be steam cleaned. Tangling one hand into Sherlock's hair, John soothed him by making soft shushing noises, his other hand drawing abstract patterns onto Sherlock's drenched skin, bringing his friend back from the brilliant afterglow.

After a few long moments of serene silence, John tilted his head so he could see the profile of Sherlock's face. His cheeks still had colour in them, but Sherlock looked more alert as he blinked back at John. “Hi.”

“Hello,” John smiled, rubbing his nose against Sherlock's cheek. “You okay?”

“I'll let you know when I have control of my body,” Sherlock huffed, his fingers twitching to touch along John's collarbone. There was a bump – a break when John was a teenager, judging by the healing.

“No deducing after sex,” John giggled, giving Sherlock's bum a tiny tap.

“Is that – is that what we did?” Sherlock asked anxiously, “We – had sex?”

“Well… I was thinking… I thought… yes?” John answered but Sherlock could tell he was guarded and nervous.

“I've never had sex before,” Sherlock admitted.

“And do you think we could do it again?” John continued, reaching up to stroke Sherlock's curls from his face so he could better see Sherlock's expression.

“I – believe that would be acceptable. Yes.” Sherlock nodded. “I mean – if you're not dating. I would be open to an arrangement.”

“Dating?” John blinked, then shook his head and laughed. “Idiot. I meant instead of dating. Us. Together… you know… properly?”

“Oh,” Sherlock said, followed by a louder, surprised and thrilled “Oh!”

“Is that a yes then?” John asked with a blinding smile, almost making Sherlock dizzy again.

“It's a definite yes,” Sherlock nodded, “But...”

“But what?” John asked anxiously, wondering what terrible caveat Sherlock was going to add to the arrangement.

“I believe we will need to redo the entire experiment. We change the parameters so our heart rate will be unusable.”

John grinned, reaching over to kiss the corner of Sherlock's mouth. “Oh, we have so many more opportunities to measure our heart rate.”

Sherlock smirked, “I rather believe I'll make a scientist out of you yet.”


End file.
